


Protection

by aronnaxs



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Fluff, Incest, M/M, confused elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aronnaxs/pseuds/aronnaxs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas and Thranduil cannot admit what they do in the privacy of Thranduil's bedroom. But, after years of lying to one another, Legolas cannot bear their dangerous masquerade any longer and craves the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gingermaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingermaya/gifts).



> This for the lovely gingermaya who asked for Thrandolas daddy kink a while ago. I don't know if this veers more on daddy issues but I hope it's alright :))

Thranduil is waiting for him that night in his private quarters, illuminated by soft candles and dressed only in his thinnest of sleeping robes, ones that cling sinfully to his form and highlight all his beautiful curves. When Legolas enters, walking carefully like he does not trust his feet, he can hardly believe his eyes. His heart springs into his throat. His breath stops in his mouth. Words vanish from his mind. He can only stand in the doorway mutely, dumbly, staring ahead. 

As he hears him, Thranduil turns and inclines his head, a greeting he bestows on all his guests, day or night. His countenance is stoic but his gaze is gentle, maybe warm - and for a moment, he seems vaguely amused at Legolas' reaction. But then it is gone, and he is the king again, Legolas' lord and chief. Nothing else, not even within the walls of their own chambers.

He outstretches a hand slowly, silken material falling back slightly to reveal a long, elegant arm. Legolas keeps his eyes upon his face, not daring to look anywhere else. Not yet. "Captain," Thranduil eventually says though, voice low, commanding. "Why do you stand so silently by the door? It unsettles me." 

Legolas swallows heavily at this. Thranduil's tone never fails to make him tremble from the inside out. It is one of the things that started this dreadful mess. But such an intoxicating, blissful mess. 

He shakes his head, apologising, and gradually places one foot in front of the other to enter further into the king's heady sanctum. As he comes closer, the subtle but delicious smell of spices and flowers arises to his senses. 'Oh, by the Valar,' he thinks. 'This night will be the death of me.' 

But he tries to keep calm, struggles to retain his composure. He walks before Thranduil, head bowed respectfully, and when the elder elf's hand reaches to stroke his cheek, he does all he can not to tremble. Oh how he needs this. But not how they do it - not with this secrecy, not with these lies. He wants to lay under Thranduil, wrap his legs about his powerful waist, feel the force of his thrusts and domination but not just as his sovereign. He craves for so much more than that, though it is terrible to admit. He doesn't want his king, he wants -

"Adar..." He whispers it quietly, as if it is a treacherous thing to utter. And sure enough, it draws Thranduil's finger to his lips, silencing him abruptly.

"Ssh..." he croons. "Don't." 

"But -" 

"No. We can't." 

The words are rushed, almost shuddering. As soon as they are out of the way, Thranduil draws back, rubbing his hands like one would scrub at uncleanliness. Legolas watches him guiltily, wanting to say something but knowing it would not help. He shuffles, wondering if he should leave, wondering if he has wrecked what Thranduil had prepared for them. It always has to be carefully fabricated, any offending holes patched up, so they will not think of what they are doing, of who they are. He intensely regrets what he has said. 

But Thranduil soon composes himself, going to the wine bottle resting on a table nearby. There are two glasses there and he fills both of them, the rushing of the liquid breaking the awful tension for a few moments. He clears his throat quietly as he pours, glancing at Legolas out of the corner of his eye. Legolas only responds when he offers him one of the goblets, and then he comes forward, taking it demurely. Their finger tips brush ever so delicately. But it is enough to send shivers throughout both elves' bodies. 

Thranduil is gone before Legolas can contemplate it anymore. As if a change of scenery may help, he moves into the adjoining bedroom and takes a long swallow of his drink, turning his back. Legolas observes him from a distance, stranded in the midst of his own confusion. Thranduil is unpredictable, unfathomable. Only he alone knows how his mind works - and even then Legolas is not sure he is fully aware of its machinery. The younger elf certainly doesn't know anything about his inner thoughts, especially not how this night may develop. 

But then he turns to him a little, gaze lingering for a fleeting second in a silent invitation. A shiver is driven down Legolas' spine. All the power this beautiful, ancient, wise elf has over him... It secretly thrills him to his core. 

He has joined Thranduil in the bedroom before he can even realise what is happening. They take their places, like they always do, in luxurious armchairs by the fire and for a few moments, there is nothing but silence between them. Legolas sips continuously at his drink, for something to occupy himself with, and Thranduil does the same, staring into the crackling flames. If anyone was to watch them (and by the gods, Legolas hoped against everything that no one ever would), they would have no cause to think that their bond stretched beyond old friends; a king and his guard sharing some time together at the end of a long day. It is what they want, what they crave to imitate in their interactions. At least here, where such unspoken, forbidden things may occur if they do not cover it up. If they lie to each other, at least it does not feel so bad -

Thranduil suddenly shifts and turns to Legolas. He appears to be about to say something but no words come out. It is uncomfortable to watch him flounder like this so Legolas quickly intervenes. "My lord," he says cautiously. "I can leave you alone if you wish it. I do not want to -"

"No." Thranduil utters it firmly, convincing both himself and Legolas. "No, I do not want you to leave, Captain. I enjoy your company, even if I seem a little out of sorts this evening. Maybe I have had a long day and it is just catching up with me." 

Legolas nods, though at times like these, he does not know what it is they are doing. Are they merely shaking off parts of their lives together to concentrate on others or are they pretending they are completely different people? Legolas has never been sure. Possibly Thranduil is operating on a completely different mindset to him. It is not healthy. But what part of this relationship is? he wonders. In one instant, they can be warm and affectionate, the next they are both bewildered and distant. He cannot think how long he can keep this up for anymore. 

But he does it for Thranduil, wonderful, enigmatic, powerful Thranduil, and the sake of both of their consciences. He loves to be under his control. As he proves with every night he spends with him, he will do anything for his happiness. If happiness this is -

An immoral, terrible happiness...

Legolas tries to keep his eyes from following so inanely when Thranduil finally leans back in his seat, returning to staring at the fire. He looks so exquisite by this light, an ethereal vision from his wildest, most erotic dreams. Why did it have to be him? he questions himself, definitely not for the first time. Why couldn't it have been one of his fellow guards, someone attainable, someone acceptable? Why -

His thoughts are cut short by the feel of Thranduil's hand suddenly brushing upon his, a delicate, inquisitive touch. He turns to him but his gaze is still elsewhere, ignoring the burn of his eyes. Gently, he weaves his fingers between Legolas' and without any more time for hesitation, draws him to his mouth, placing a kiss upon the palm. He tries not to shudder yet his lips are soft and warm and the act is so intimate it nigh on draws his breath away. This is devastating, maddening, enchanting... 

He feels shameful heat rise to his cheeks as he begins to become aroused at the simple caress. He shifts a little in an attempt to hide it yet there is no use when Thranduil moves to his wrist, sucking gently. The elder elf should not know so well what drives him crazy - only he should know that, and a possible partner he still assumes he can find sometime in his life. But no, the king is wise to all and can make him wither in mere seconds. He is the only person that has ever made Legolas feel like this. 

And that is a confession he cannot fully admit to himself. It could easily spell out his doom if it continued.

Yet now, sitting by Thranduil once again in his bedroom, he cannot move. He cannot do anything to oppose him. Not even something so meagre as to pull away his hand from the mouth he should not have tasted so many times. He is trapped in this sinful web of lies, where each victim wears a fragile, desperate little mask.

Finally, he feels Thranduil's eyes on him, peering over the short distance that separates them. For a few moments, he cannot bear to face him, but then, irresistibly, irreversibly, he meets his gaze and lost in those beautiful blue orbs, leans forward closer. They do not speak a word - neither can withstand it - as the king softly runs a finger down Legolas' cheek, feeling him tremble, feeling him weaken. He closes his eyes, frightened at the surge of feelings within himself, and only feels it as their mouths brush together, just a feather of a touch but enough to make them both sigh and shake. By the Valar, this should not feel so good.

But every sensation is heightened now as Thranduil's hand runs down his throat, bobbing slightly as he swallows heavily. His lips soon join it, still not quite connecting, and Legolas desperately resists the temptation to delve his fingers into that silvery cascade of his hair. His mouth opens in a small gasp and he squirms again when his arousal intensifies. And yet Thranduil hasn't even properly touched him - 

The king pulls away though before he can do anything else. He looks into Legolas' lust-darkened eyes and for a moment, a hint of guilt runs through his own. He covers it up quickly with his next words. "Captain," he whispers. "Will you join me on the bed?" 

Legolas should say no - even amongst all this pretending that they do - but he is standing from the chair as quickly as if it is the easiest decision in the world. He follows Thranduil to the bed and they sit at the end of it, facing each other. His hands linger over the hem of his tunic. "Shall I undress, my lord?" he asks. Thranduil nods.

"Please."

It does not take him long to remove his clothing, especially with Thranduil's eyes roaming over him, observing every bit of bared flesh. He guides him back onto the mattress once he is done and side by side, they lay together, one naked, the other still swathed in a thin robe. The feel of its silken material against Legolas' skin is infuriating. He wants to rub even more onto it but he controls himself. 

When Thranduil gently touches his face though, he flushes bright red in sinful excitement. He yields to him easily and desperately whispers "my Lord", a final confirmation of their masquerade, as their lips meet. 

The kiss that follows is incredible. Thranduil weaves his hands into his hair and plunders his mouth with his tongue, self control slipping at the heated wetness. Legolas cannot help moaning, firmly holding onto his shoulders for dear life. He raises a leg to wrap about his waist, hips already beginning to twitch in order to find gratification but Thranduil grasps him and presses him back down to the bed forcefully. There is nothing more he can do as he gets on top of him and pins down his hands. 

He pants helplessly when the kiss is broken and Thranduil immediately begins to nibble at his neck. He becomes hypersensitive when he is aroused and Thranduil knows this, knows exactly which spots are erogenous but still he shows him no mercy, keeping him bound down. It is not until he lets out a heady groan again that he suddenly stops, freezing against his body.

Legolas gradually gains his breath back and feels the hold around his wrists lessen. He frowns and moves them slowly into Thranduil's hair. The king is shaking, his face buried shamefully into Legolas' shoulder. A knot instantly grows in Legolas' stomach. "Ada -" he mumbles. But Thranduil immediately snaps up, expression pained.

"No," he whispers. "Do not say that." 

Legolas stares into his troubled eyes, feeling a horrid deluge of feelings storming within himself. It hurts so incredibly to pretend, to lie to each other, but they have to - they cannot admit what happens here in the king's bed; a most terrible sin and betrayal... But which neither can stop. Not now they have tasted its intoxication and illicit allure. 

Legolas feels himself trembling as he slips his hands from Thranduil's hair and caresses them down his shoulders, loosening the satin robe. It comes off easily, revealing skin that is just as smooth and soft. He hears him exhale lowly, delicately but he allows the material to fall from his body. He shivers at his touch, even more so when Legolas' lips join his fingers. "Thranduil," he murmurs. "My lord..."

Thranduil closes his eyes. "Captain..." he responds.

And the performance begins again. 

Legolas clenches his knees around Thranduil's waist as he captures his mouth once more. They kiss fiercely, passionately, as if they are trying to regain those last few precious seconds, and this time, their nudity means they can rock against each other without fabric constraints. The younger elf digs his nails into the king's sides, raking them up and down, and cannot stop himself sighing and moaning between his lips. They try even harder to block out any other stray notions of what they are doing and in the ferocity of this, Thranduil again pushes Legolas down under his dominion.

Yet it only makes Legolas squirm more. It could never be spoken but he loves to be dominated by the king, adores to feel his power over him. He can order him around out of the prime authority he exudes and he secretly craves it, needs it for him to function. But he also cares for him, treats his every desire, including this clandestine, forbidden one... He wants to be under his protection forever and always...

Oh, Valar, how he loves him. He loves him far too much.

A lump rises in his throat as Thranduil moves away from his mouth and starts to kiss and suck at his ear. He bunches his hands in his hair and winds it around his fingers, wishing he could never let go. "My lord," he cries again. "Don't stop, please..."

But Thranduil doesn't seem to be able to anymore. He ravishes and spoils him as if it is their last moment together and Legolas gasps out encouragements. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from calling out the wrong thing yet it is worth it if it means he can feel these wonderful hands on him or those exquisite lips or that strong, elegant body... What a dangerous game they play, he laments.

Still, he leans back his head to give him access to more skin and opens up his legs enticingly. He hears Thranduil sigh as he settles between those warm thighs and then he is reaching across to the bedside table, rummaging for something. For a second, he pauses as if unsure but quickly continues. 

Legolas squeezes shut his eyes as a slick finger breaches him and immediately shifts about. It hurts yet he lets him carry on; if they stop, the illusion may break. And it can not break now - not when they are at the height of their passion. It would be their ruin. 

So he allows it to happen when a second digit, then another, joins in. Thranduil rubs his thighs and lower stomach - never quite touching his arousal - and he trembles, clenching around him in pain. "Ssh," he whispers apologetically and Legolas cannot help staring at his mouth, wanting it in such awful places. Your own father, a voice suddenly hisses in his head. Stop lying to yourself - He jerks, sobbing out loud. But this time, as his fingers crook, he welcomes the suffering as they drive away the stray thoughts.

Finally, Thranduil deems him sufficiently prepared. He reaches again for the oil and Legolas wraps his legs around his waist. The king leans over him, nibbling at his ear but it is almost too much. "Please hurry," he begs, and it is half in pleasure, half to ensure his guilt does not return.

He has to furiously bite his hand as Thranduil thrusts into him. Even then, his cry is loud and carnal, and he is thoroughly ashamed by it. It is not normal that they make love in this fashion - usually Thranduil will turn him over onto all fours and fuck him so as he cannot see his face. Legolas had forgotten how good it feels to be taken in this position. Though it hurts at first, he is soon moaning in ecstasy, eyes nigh on crossing at every push inside.

Thranduil buries his head in his shoulder and it is not long until he is echoing the sounds he is making. His hands run all over his body, mapping every little place, and Legolas returns the favour, though his nails frequently dig desperately into his flesh. He is sweating, glowing in his euphoria; the sensations are nearly unbearable. He is going to lose his mind in this bed one night...

And when the older elf thrusts forward and slams against that exquisite little spot inside of him, he almost screams. The world blurs around him for a minute and it is all he can do just to breathe as he does it again. Oh by the Valar, he cannot think, he cannot stay still, he cannot keep this up anymore...

Once more against that secret area and before he can stop it, a cry that he has furiously withheld suddenly rushes to his lips. He can do nothing to quell it, nothing to stifle the sound of it bouncing off the walls. "Daddy!" he shouts fervently. And immediately, everything crumbles down around them. Thranduil stops, stiffening against him. Realising what he has said, Legolas claps a hand over his mouth, tears rushing to his eyes in humiliation. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbles weakly, muffled. "I'm so sorry..."

Thranduil gradually raises his head, frowning, and for the first time, looks down upon him, splayed out, flushed, on the bed. "What did you just say?" he asks and Legolas shakes, looking as though he is about to weep. Thranduil touches his hand and gently peels it away from his mouth. He whines, trying to hide from him. 

"I didn't mean to say it - I'm so sorry..." 

Thranduil pauses for a moment and Legolas knows he has wrecked it; everything that they have done has vanished because of one simple word. He starts to feel ill - he has disappointed both himself and his glorious, beautiful father. But then Thranduil leans down to him and brushes his mouth once more against his. He stills, shuddering, and doesn't know what to do as the king begins to kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then up to his ear. "Say it again," he murmurs. Legolas furrows his brow in confusion.

"My lord?" he asks.

"No." His hands run down his chest, sliding to his arousal. Despite himself, Legolas shivers. 

"I don't -" 

"You know what I mean." 

Legolas takes a breath and it quickly gets stuck in his throat as Thranduil rubs him up and down, up and down. He closes his eyes in pleasure. "Oh - daddy..." he sighs. 

"Yes." The thrusts start again, quickly gaining power and speed. The prince moans, gripping his hands on Thranduil's shoulders. "Yes."

And now it is even more incredible. Legolas cannot help himself calling for Thranduil over and over again and he feels the bed tremble in the force of his desire. "Daddy, daddy!" he shouts and then "ada!" and the king becomes mindless in response, holding him tight. Legolas groans loudly as the masquerade withers away around them. It shouldn't feel so good to let go of all of their carefully constructed lies but oh, it does; and it is impossible to stop now. 

It doesn't take long for them to feel the beginnings of the end. Thranduil grasps one of Legolas' thighs possessively and buries his head into his neck, whispering sobbed affections. "My beautiful elfling, my lovely boy..." he gushes and Legolas feels his legs shaking and chest restricting. Tears spill down his reddened cheeks. 

"Ada!" he cries. "I - I love you -" 

"Yes, I love you also -" Thranduil stems his words for a moment, gasping as Legolas begins to constrict around him. He quivers and jerks, babbling for him, right on the edge. Gently, he kisses his ear and mutters the thing he knows he knows he wants to hear. "Legolas...oh, iôn-nîn..."

"Oh!" 

And it is all it takes for Legolas to reach his peak. He throws back his head and writhing, he comes copiously between them, trying desperately hard not to scream. Thranduil embraces him throughout the intense waves and attempts to hold back until he is finished but cannot. With a cry, he sees white lights burst around him and wildly follows Legolas, clutching into his hair for dear life. 

When it is finally over, they lay, panting, together. As soon as he is done with cleaning them up, Legolas turns his face from Thranduil, embarrassed, but he slowly reaches over and makes him look at him. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't mean to call you...that." 

"No -" 

"But I have felt a need to for a while. I can't help it -" Legolas shivers and Thranduil touches him gently, soothingly.

"Ssh..." He pauses for a moment and takes a breath as he slowly rolls Legolas over into his arms. He cuddles into his chest helplessly. "Maybe it is time we stop pretending to each other. I do not want to make you hide anything."

"But it is wrong," Legolas says emphatically. "We cannot do this. I should not have called you that. It is twisted and disgusting..."

"Then I may also be twisted because I enjoyed hearing you call me that. It has been a long time since you've said anything like it. Granted, I did not think we would be in this position if you spoke it again -"

Legolas frowns and looks up into his father's face. He cannot quite comprehend his tranquility regarding what has happened and what is still happening. He shivers as he touches his hair. "But it can never be the same if we admit what we are doing, who we are... And I cannot lose you, ada. You are everything I have." 

Thranduil smiles softly and places a kiss on Legolas' damp forehead. He rubs his back calmingly. "You will not ever lose me, my treasure. I will always be here, no matter what you need of me. We can do whatever you wish. Nothing has to change if we do not want it to."

Legolas stares at him, as if trying to gauge the truth of what he is saying. "Can we really do that, ada? After what happens - here?" 

Thranduil nods, bringing Legolas back into his arms. "Of course it can. Don't you fret. You are everything to me, Legolas. Nothing will ever take that away. So I thank you for saying what you did. You have made me realise that we are strong enough to handle the truth together."

Legolas shudders against his neck and holds him even tighter.

"So you can call me my lord, my king, ada, daddy... Whatever you wish. I will love you, no matter what."

A sob escapes Legolas' throat. He buries his head into Thranduil's shoulder and utters "ada," in thanks. Tenderly, Thranduil squeezes him and eases them both down into a comfortable position. Legolas doesn't let go, nor at any time throughout the night. Thranduil keeps him close, reassuring and protecting him and vowing never to stop adoring him.

When they return before their people the following day, it is evident that something has changed between them but no one can pinpoint what. At the end of the evening, Legolas comes to Thranduil's bedroom again and is greeted with the same luxurious sight as he always is, his lovely father draped in beautiful, silken materials. He kneels before him and softly kisses his hand. "Daddy," he mutters quietly. Thranduil lifts his head encouragingly. "Will you look after me?"

Thranduil smiles and gently strokes his cheek. "I will always look after you, iôn-nîn."


End file.
